God took my mom. When I was 6 years old and knew nothing about life. Before I had a chance to know her. Long before I would have a way to remember her. He took her. And I grew up never having a mother. If God can see all, if God knows all, if God is in control...did He not think I would want a mom? Or deserved a mom? Or needed a mom? Did He not care how painful it would be? Did He not care how awful it would feel? Did He not care about me at all? Because I thought when you loved someone you wanted the best for them. You sacrificed for them. You made sure you did everything in your power to help them. And it didn't feel like God helped me. It felt like He punished me. And I had no idea why. I just knew I hated it. And there were moments that I hated Him. When you're little, no one comes up to you and tells you it's going to be ok. Most don't come up to you at all. Because people shrink from talking about death. They don't know what to say so they don
choosing to see God in the unlikely places. it's not about me...it's about Him.